


Separation

by Strigoi17



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Sadstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-15 00:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strigoi17/pseuds/Strigoi17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can see his lips move and you can taste the blood in the air. You can smell his breath as his hot and panicked screams flood onto your face, but you cannot hear him speak.</p>
<p>	The silence eats away at your ears, at your mind. It throws up a barricade around you, isolates you from the man centimeters away from you. Everything is quiet, even the screams rumbling up your throat.</p>
<p>	“Kurloz!” You can feel yourself crying, you can taste your tears and feel the blood as it oozes from your ears, but you cannot hear yourself. You are shaken by the sobs in your chest, paralyzed by the pain ricocheting through your head and buzzing around your ears, but you cannot hear him speak to you. “Kurloz, help me!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Separation

You can see his lips move and you can taste the blood in the air. You can smell his breath as his hot and panicked screams flood onto your face, but you cannot hear him speak.

The silence eats away at your ears, at your mind. It throws up a barricade around you, isolates you from the man centimeters away from you. Everything is quiet, even the screams rumbling up your throat.

“Kurloz!” You can feel yourself crying, you can taste your tears and feel the blood as it oozes from your ears, but you cannot hear yourself. You are shaken by the sobs in your chest, paralyzed by the pain ricocheting through your head and buzzing around your ears, but you cannot hear him speak to you. “Kurloz, help me!”

 

She had a habit of tracing letters onto your chest, and you had a habit of swatting her away.

Tapping her forehead to get her attention, you pointed to the TV screen that sat ignored across the room. “It’s…” You stared down at your hand, formed your fingers into shaky, alien symbols that hurt your head as well as your knuckles. “It’s your favorite movie. Don’t you want to watch?”

Smiling at you from your lap, she stenciled more letters against your shirt. “I like talking to you more.”

Beforian was simple enough to both write and read; but all you could decipher was “talking” and “you.” The shivers cascading down your spine at her touch were a beacon, a “hey! Look at me!” in the middle of your conversation.

Rolling your eyes, you smiled nonetheless: you could guess at what she said, and the message carried semi-effectively. The stitches around your lips hung when you smiled, though. New and purple-tinted, they sent vivid, tecnhicolor pain vibrating down your neck. With a grunt and a grimace, you pulled away from her; she only followed after you, a hand rising to touch at the corner of your lips.

“Oh…” She said quietly, furrowing black eyebrows in a mix of pity and determination. Without further thought or contemplation, she leaned forward as you leaned back, chasing you into the arm of the couch. Though she wasn’t much weight, you submitted willingly, letting the cushions push into your spine and her push chest push into yours. When you blink up at her she smiles; stretches comfortably on top of you before pecking the downward-crescents of your lips, twice each.

She raises a hand, signed the words out slowly so you could read them. “All better!”

You laugh under your breath and tug at a thread peaking from the collar of her shirt. When she glanced down to watch you flicked her nose with a gloved finger.

“Honk.” You signed out with your other hand.

She smiled and chittered out a laugh. She dips down to peck you, but your stitches are hard and coarse against her lips; they burn and tingle at the touch. With a deep, cratered sigh, Meulin pulled away, burrowed into the heated valley of your neck and covered it with kisses. One hand rose, and without a thought, she scrawled the Beforian symbol for “I love you” across your collarbones.

You pressed a kiss into her bangs, let your lips linger. Warmth spread from the spot, waved between your lips and down your throat; embalmed you in the feeling. Pushing them into her skin hurt, but you hadn’t kissed her since the incident.

Her screaming still echoed in your head.

When she had invited herself into your hive today, it had come as a shock. Flashing Moulin Rouge and a smile, she had stepped in without being bid in. “IIIIII vote we watch movies!” She sang, loud enough to hurt your ears. For a moment you contemplate scolding her, but the fact that she can’t stop herself sinks in.

That realization pummeled your heart into a shapeless blob; beat it against your rib cage until it was black, blue and stuttering.

Without replying to her suggestion, you leapt on her. Wrapping both arms around her, you swung her up into your chest, off of the floor completely. This only squeezed chitters out of her chest, and as she wrapped her limbs around you she spoke directly into your ear. “I’m happy about what you’re doing.”

Her head fell onto your shoulder. “And I forgive you, Kurloz.”

Now, though, you pull away from her and her curls; found her eyes drooping against the warmth of your neck. She’s relaxed against you, wrapped her arms around your neck and both of her legs around one of yours. Against your chest her breathing has mellowed out, dipped into uniformity.

Going painfully rigid, you sat up. Letting her fall against the couch, you stand and walk a few paces away, separate yourself from your sleeping Matesprit. Every inch of your skin was slowly catching fire, eating you from the outside in, sapping life from you like electricity from a socket. Soon, you would be nothing but dust, black and hell to get out of your carpet. Your movement woke her, and she turned on your cushions, looked up at you with bleary eyes.

“Kurloz—what’s wrong? Did you have another nightmare? Kurloz?”

The fire was turning cold, freezing over your burns and sticking your fingers together. It dribbled into your body from your pores, swelled inside of you and feasted on your lungs. Liquid nitrogen licks up your throat, threatens to make you vomit or weld your mouth shut.

Frantic and clumsy, you plucked a book from beside your couch and leafed through it. In the moment it took you to search, she had already stood and was quickly advancing on you, wide awake and worried. Her head was cocked to the side, and both of her hands were raised to reach out for her Matesprit. “Kurloz – what’s -- ?”

The sound of tearing paper cleaved her sentence in half: you had found your page and whipped it open so quickly it had split down the middle. After a moment of fumbling with the shredded paper, you pointing to the hand sign that signaled what you were trying to say – wanted desperately to convey. You couldn’t breathe.

“Home?” She asked, breezing right over your attempt and honing in on the crinkled corners of your eyes and the heaving of your chest. “Kurloz – what do you mean?”

You pointed to the door of your hive, arm shaking so hard you found yourself instead pointing at the window before you forced yourself to steady. It didn’t take her a moment to understand. When she did, it was immediately apparent: through her eyes, you could see bits of her crumble and fall away. The holes left afterward were wide and black, and left you gasping for air through frost-bitten lungs.

“Okay,” She said, turning away to avoid your eye. “Okay.”

When she walked by you, your hand fell. When the door slammed, you felt your ribs break and when you collapsed onto the floor, you couldn’t breathe. You hit your ass hard, let your head sag into your crossed arms. When you sobbed, you sobbed so hard you almost ripped out your stitches.

It was admittedly easier to break down without her in the room.


End file.
